Both Sides of the Mirror
by They Who Must Not Be Named
Summary: [alternate universe][slash content] The year is 2003. The place is New York City. These are the stories of fifteen people. Insanity ensues.


**Both Sides of the Mirror**

The Forty Thieves

Dorothy sipped at her vodka; tired, frustrated, and just downright pissed. The day had not gone well. The fucking _week had not gone well. There had to be some fresh talent in a city like New York. There _had _to be. It was _New York City_, for Christ's sake. _

But _no_... Apparently, the city liked spiting her, because it seemed that as soon as she walked in, talent walked out. Actually, it was more like "talent flew away like a bat out of hell", but why bother with the putrid details?

She grunted in annoyance as the couple next to her invaded her personal space. Again. God, had they no shame? Could they not at least get a fucking room? The blonde generally had no qualms about homosexuality - what people did was their business - but did they have to be _that_ open about it? Honestly, though, they were practically having sex on the bar, what with the groping, and the kissing, and the unbuttoning... 

Damn. It totally turned her on. 

Which was probably why she owned a harem. 

Of men. 

That was slowly but surely going out of business.

She groaned and buried her head in her arm.

Why her, of all people? What was wrong with her setup? What was it that made people go everywhere else? God, she needed another drink...

"Hey, there, hot stuff."

Dorothy turned her head slowly, forebodingly. She raised a severely forked eyebrow.

"_Excuse_ me?"

Apparently, she looked more pissed than she'd intended to because the girl, who was quite pretty, really, suddenly looked very afraid and walked off rather quickly. Then again, maybe it was the eyebrows. They were just too much for some people. Actually, come to think of it... They were too much for just about... well... _everyone_. 

At the sound of intimate giggling, she turned to see a short blond on the arm of an even shorter brunet, who was very courteously pulling the chair out for the other boy. The blond blushed and giggled some more. As soon as they were both seated, the brunet leaned forward with a devilish grin and whispered something that made the delicate-looking blond bury his face in his date's (boyfriend's?) neck, shaking with mirth. 

Was _everybody_ in this Godforsaken bar _gay_?!

Her attention was diverted by a sudden dimming of the lights. The first strains of soft, Middle Eastern music rose steadily in volume, soon accompanied by rhythmic drumming. 

_What the hell...?_

Dorothy winced as positively everyone within the vicinity, with the exception of herself, of course, started bellowing enthusiastically at full volume, catcalling and whistling the whole while. Even the couple sitting next to her stopped making out long enough to participate in what she could only deduce was a well-loved ritual, if it could be called that. Apparently, she was the only one who had no clue as to what would happen next. 

The inebriated questions flowing painfully through her head were answered, however, with the lighting of the stage. Gathered on it was a mass of figures, all edged faintly with blue light. The entire effect was hauntingly sexy and made her feel just a bit apprehensive. The crowd had quieted by now, and all were watching the stage with eager intensity.

Whatever Dorothy was expecting, this was definitely not it. The following spectacle was utterly amazing. It could only be described as the hottest, sexiest thing she'd ever seen in her life. Why had she not thought of this? Get a couple of good-looking, well-muscled young men and... And... Their movements were beyond description. They all seemed to move together as one, but all the dancers were doing something completely different. Slow yet frenzied, tantalizing but untouchable - was it even humanly possible? - It had to be the most beautifully risqué act of the century... Gay guys would love it!

Oh. 

Well then.

That explained a lot.

The music stopped. Everything came to a stop, with the exception of a solo drum. Dorothy frowned. It couldn't be over _already_... But the crowd still watched on. Their rising excitement was almost palpable, and Dorothy sat up straighter, in preparation for whatever amazing spectacle the bar had planned for its customers. Perhaps this was something she could "borrow" for herself, per se. And this was Dorothy Catalonia. She always enjoyed a good challenge.

If there was one thing about herself that Dorothy Catalonia could boast about - not that it was the _only_ thing she boasted, of course - it was her exceptional self-control. She had this uncanny ability to keep a straight face. That was why it was a strange spectacle to see the upper crust blonde sputtering, choking, and coughing and the like, vodka dribbling down her chin to boot. Onto a very fine dress. A very fine and _expensive_ dress. It was ever stranger that she didn't even seem to notice how she'd desecrated herself.?

It wasn't much of a surprise, though, when one looked to the stage, for the vision there would have left _Shakespeare_ at a loss for words.?

Dorothy opened and closed her mouth mutely; unable to do much else in her highly intoxicated state. The girl was absolutely _gorgeous_. She was clad in an enticing ensemble of sheer and bangles that, though she'd never say so out loud, turned even _her_ on. Her. Dorothy. Catalonia. The jaded harem owner whose business was steadily going down the proverbial drain. The woman who was something like the ultimate fag hag. Who generally hated women with a passion for their weakness and frivolity.

For a moment, she completely forgot about her aforementioned troubles, which, her being Dorothy and all, was a fairly colossal accomplishment on the dancer's part. 

And the dancer was truly amazing. Were muscles supposed to work that way? Were there even _supposed_ to be muscles there? Good God, that girl could belly dance! 

"Excuse me, miss. You're drooling on the counter." 

Dorothy nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice. She turned back to the bar to find a beautiful redheaded youth staring at her impassively. 

"Oh. I'm sorry. I just..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." the bartender said, sounding disgusted. "He's got that effect on people."

Dorothy blinked. He? "He?"

"Yeah, he." The boy scowled, clearly annoyed. He wiped the counter clean briskly. "Am I done yet?"

But before she could utter a scathing remark about his upbringing, he turned on a dime and walked away, red curls fluttering behind him.

Now that the boy at the counter (was he old enough to work in a place like this?) pointed it out, it seemed pretty obvious. The Adam's apple peeking over the top of the layered necklaces. The hard angularity of the face. The thickness of the neck. And it made sense, didn't it, since this was a gay bar and all.

The lights remained dim, but it was a bit brighter. The performance was over, and the huge stage became a dance floor for the guests. Dorothy turned back to her drink, only to find that she had downed the whole glass. Or, at least, all of it had been in her mouth at some point. Whether it had ended up in her stomach or on her dress, that was another matter altogether.

"Hey," she called, hoping that the redheaded youth would not come back. The boy was too grouchy, even by her standards. And that was saying something. "Hey, can I get another drink here?"

A short, cheery Asian girl bustled up to her with a smile. "Sure. What would you like?"

"I'll have another vodka, please." Dorothy needed more alcohol. Could the rumors of getting addicted to alcohol actually be true?

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Lady, you've already downed five shots since you got here. Are you sure you want another one?"

Dorothy smirked. "Christ, you sound like your redheaded friend over there... Was it a requirement for employment or something? A chip on the shoulder? Or maybe just downright bitchiness..."

The girl's smile faltered. "You mean Armand? I swear to _god_, I..." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. "What'd he do _this_ time?"

"Oh, besides being unbelievably rude? Nothing much," the blonde replied nonchalantly.

To her surprise, the girl looked relieved. "Oh, is _that_ it?" She laughed. "Yeah, he can be a nasty little prick... But he's a darling once you get to know him."

"Is he even old enough to be working here?"

The girl looked shocked. "Armand? Oh, _yeah_... He's older than _I_ am. He just looks young is all."

"He looks _really _young," Dorothy said, still unconvinced.

"I know." The girl pouted. "It's not _fair_... He's so pretty. _Everybody_ goes after him."

"Really? I'd think that they'd be too busy slobbering all over the belly dancer... Who was he, by the way?"

The girl handed her the drink. "You didn't recognize him? That was Quatre Winner."

Dorothy choked. For the second time that night. _Damn_ it!

"_Quatre_ Winner? As in Quatre _Raberba_ Winner, owner of Winner _Corp_.?"

"Yup." The girl went on cleaning glasses calmly, oblivious to her customer's bout with hacking. "The one and only."

"But... But..." Dorothy sputtered. This was just too bizarre. "He's a millionaire! He's the modern version of John D. Rockefeller! What's he doing _here_?"

The bartender looked so startled she almost dropped the glass. "What, you didn't know?"

The blonde blinked. "Know what?"

"Honey, he's _gay_."

Well, _that_ was a revelation.

"Is this public knowledge or something?"

"Well, no, not really," the girl replied, returning to her tedious task. "I mean, he's not in the closet or anything, but people just don't expect it, you know? And it's not like he's stupid enough to go to press conferences in flamer attire or anything. To tell you the truth, I don't think anybody who doesn't frequent this establishment knows. I mean, you just don't go around yelling that you've been at The Crossroads, you know? That's probably why it hasn't gotten publicized. Everybody here is just naturally secretive, I guess."

"Hey, Gothitica."

Dorothy jumped, again, as a smooth, soft voice cut into the conversation. She examined the blond young man who had just slid gracefully into the seat beside her. His sparkling stage make-up was still in place, but she could tell that without it, he would be more cute than sexy. 

The girl, now dubbed Gothitica, grinned at him. "Hey there, Quat. Great show tonight."

"Yeah, Quatty. You could've awakened the dead," Armand added impishly, leaning on the counter and handing him an open beer.

Sky blue eyes sparkled mischievously as Quatre smiled. "Oh, you know it, babe," he replied, winking, before dumping half the bottle down his throat.

Armand smirked and returned his wink. "Anytime."

Gothitica rolled her eyes and proceeded to drag a protesting Armand away by the arm. "Come on... You know the rules... No flirting on the job..."

"You're just jealous 'cause he likes me."

"Right... How many times do I have to remind you that I _have_ a boyfriend?"

"Wasn't it girlfriend yesterday?"

"Well, it's boyfriend today, so get used to it."

"Liar, liar..."

Quatre chuckled and shook his head at the bickering antics of the two friends.

"God, those two crack me up..."

"You been friends for long?" Dorothy asked, sensing an opportunity to speak with this most extraordinary young man.

"Who, us?" Quatre asked, unfazed by speaking to a complete stranger. Well, he _was _a public figure. But who knew? Dorothy nodded. He gestured vaguely. "Oh, yeah. We go way back. They were the first people I met in New York who didn't treat me like royalty, you know? It was a nice change, having people tell you you're being stupid when you're being stupid." He grinned at her raised eyebrow. "Yeah, I know... It sounds weird, but it's true. And the great thing is, when they insult you, they're _witty_ about it. None of that 'your mama' stuff. It's great."

They sat in companionable silence for a while before Dorothy finally let her curiosity get the better of her. 

"I know this sounds nosy, but I just can't wrap my mind around the idea... Why did you decide to come here? I mean, you're so rich... It's not like you need the money or anything."

"Oh, that. Well, you know I'm gay, right?" Dorothy nodded. "Well, I got tired of being around bigots all the time, so I was complaining to Gothitica one day, and she told me about this place and how they wanted performers. I decided that I deserved some self-indulgence time every once in awhile and signed up. It also serves as a nice little hook-up point, too."

"Well, why don't you just tell people that you're gay?"

Quatre rolled his eyes. "What are you? Stupid? How many lives have been ruined because they were open enough to come out to the public? I get all the bashing I need at work, thanks. And look around you! You just don't openly tie yourself to places like this. I mean, Christ, you don't really think Gothitica is her _real_ name, do you? And Armand, too. Those are just nicknames. Why don't you think they wear nametags? I know that a lot of people nowadays don't care as much, but the fact remains that the higher up you get, the more prejudiced they are. I'm not saying all of them are bigots, but, I mean, honestly... _Women_ are still working their way into the upper reaches of society. And they've had their rights since the 20's."

"So... Is the hooking up thing working?" Dorothy asked, eager to steer away from the previous topic after _that_ little outburst. 

The blond shook his head sadly. "Nope. Being a performer separates you from the others. I've met people, sure, but only lusty admirers. Nobody serious." He sighed, and it was melancholy enough that Dorothy's heart almost broke. Almost. She still had to keep up appearances. And besides, the wheels in her head had started to turn, and that diverted energy away from potential heartbreaking.

"But do you _like_ being single?" she asked, still miraculously clearheaded. 

He gave her a look of such utter scorn that she would've melted if she hadn't been Dorothy Catalonia. But she was, and so she remained entirely solid. "Why would I be looking for someone if I _liked_ being single?"

She grinned lazily. "Sorry..." She raised her glass. "Sixth shot, you know... Makes you forget things..." A look of understanding crossed his face, and he nursed his beer looking considerably more satisfied. Dorothy slowly fumbled with her purse and had to look closely to make sure that she'd pulled out the right thing. Then, with professional expertise, she flicked a beige business card over to him.

"Well, if you ever think of looking anywhere else..." She trailed off and smirked suggestively before finishing her drink and stumbling towards the entrance.

Today had been a most excellent day indeed.

**Gothic:** XD XD XD

This is what comes of a conversation between two psychos at midnight. 

I love it!

Anyhow, first things first. To make this more interesting for our dear readers, we have decided to make this semi-interactive. In each chapter, we will insert a vague allusion to a movie. It does not necessarily have to be an anime, even though that is a possibility. The first person to guess correctly will have a cameo in the following chapter, so give us your emails. We need them so we can get the necessary information. We will wait a week before beginning the next chapter so get those reviews in!

If you don't want a cameo for whatever reason, don't give us your email.

For those who are interested, your cameo will be something like mine. It won't be a big part, but you will be in it. 

**Sery:** And all you greedy people, ONLY ONE CAMEO PER PERSON!!!

And don't go thinking you can use more than one email address. We know all... We see all...

**Gothic: **So review!! And you will be happy, happy people!!


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